


A Different Kind of Longing

by poldarked_fangirl



Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: Affairs, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Childbirth, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt, Pain, Worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-17 09:03:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11272281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poldarked_fangirl/pseuds/poldarked_fangirl
Summary: On the night of Valentine Warleggan's birth, the child's true father sits at Nampara, longing to see his son.





	A Different Kind of Longing

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to my amazing beta-reader: @chocolatepig221bteasatfour (Tumblr.) for once again giving me a hand with this!!! <3

  
  
Ross sighed, leaning back against the chair in his library.  Upstairs, his son Jeremy, slept peacefully.  In the sitting room, on the other side of the wall, sat his wife, Demelza, and their dear friend, Caroline Penevenen, who had just that afternoon become Mrs. Dwight Enys.   
  
And across the moors and field, on the other side of what was left of the Poldark mines, his former love was giving birth to what could very possibly be his child.   
  
After loving her from a distance for a decade, Ross had finally had Elizabeth a little more than a month before her wedding to his greatest enemy, George Warleggan.  But it was not what he had expected.  His love for her had diminished nearly instantaneously.  He knew how terrible that sounded, but was he to fall more in love with her instead?  It was not only in the relations had the idealization of the memory of her fell short, but in everything else since.   
  
In a way though, he was grateful.  For he knew that the longing for her for so long had set a breech between him and Demelza.  Though he desperately wished he could take it back and come to this conclusion without having to cause her so much more pain.   
  
Truly, he did not love Elizabeth.  He was no longer even in love with the memory.  Yes, it was a memory still close to his heart, but like the memory of Francis or his father, that no longer burned him inside.  Now the heartache he felt was a different kind.  Not for a woman he could not have, but for a child he could not hold.   
  
He knew Demelza knew, and that if he voiced his thoughts to her that she would try to convince him that the child was not his.  That it was just an early birth.  Which, yes, was quite possible… but honestly, what are the chances?  That tonight, almost 9 months exactly to the day, the child was to be born.   
  
He desperately wanted to be at Trenwith.  This was his child… He knew it deep in his heart… He could feel it.  Love for it’s mother was not there, nor could he say he even loved this child as he did Julia or Jeremy… But there was no denying that it was his flesh and blood.  And could he deny the compassion he felt for the woman who was carrying that child?   
  
He was honest when he said to Demelza the day before that he knew little of these things, but he remembered Jeremy’s birth.  How he carried Demelza from the cove back to Nampara; how she struggled and shouted against the pain; how he paced back and forth as he heard her screaming, wishing he could take her pain from her.  No doubt George was at Trenwith, pacing back and forth.  He may hate the man, but he did not think him so evil that he would not worry for his wife in labor.  He did not know how he would react though, if he found out there was even a chance that Ross was the father.  It was a conversation he prayed never to have.  
  
His mind wandered closer to Trenwith.  Closer than he was allowed to be.  He was not so ignorant as to think birth was easy.  Besides Dwight, and perhaps a servant or two, Elizabeth was alone.  And in pain.  True, he had not been present at either of his other children’s arrivals, but he hoped his presence in the home during Jeremy’s had offered Demelza perhaps some small measure of comfort.  The knowledge that as soon as the pain was done, he would come in and see the small, newest member of his family. 

 

Or maybe not… Demelza was so strong, he thought sometimes she didn’t need him at all.  Yes, she had forgiven him, and he could not deny there had been a clear effort made in the past few months.  But neither of them pretended it did not happen.  Had they even moved on at all?  Would they ever?   
  
So many questions.  So many fears.  So many what-if’s.  What if it wasn’t his child?  What if this truly was “the Warleggan heir,” and born simply a month early?  Children were delivered premature all the time.   
  
He sighed.  Who was he trying to fool?  The child was a Poldark.  He felt it as strongly as he knew himself.  And he knew Elizabeth knew.  He also hoped she knew that if she called upon him, for anything for this child, he would be there.  He may harbor no feelings for her, but could he deny his own son or daughter?  No.  But would it be out of fatherly love or of human guilt?  He could not tell.  Surely, even if out of guilt, it would be better than nothing, would it not?   
  
He did not know what to do.  He did not know what the future would bring.  Would Elizabeth be delivered of a boy or a girl?  What would George name his enemy’s son?  Would he ever know?  Would the child grow up to be his spitting image?   
  
A third time, he sighed, leaning forward and closing his eyes in thought.  At this moment, at this point in time, Ross Poldark knew absolutely nothing.  He did not even know who he was or what his purpose on this earth was.  His heart and arms longed and ached to hold this child.  Perhaps he should go upstairs and hold Jeremy a little tighter than usual.  Though he was sure if he saw his son now, he would weep. 

 

 _Ross…_ her voice sounded in his head.

 

“Ross.”

 

He turned.  _Demelza._   “No sign of Dwight?” he asked, trying to seem composed.

 

She did not speak, but walked into the room.  He began to speak of Dwight and how unlucky this accident was to be on his wedding night, but he didn’t think he sounded convincing.   
  
“But why would Elizabeth fall down the stairs?” Demelza asked. 

 

There.  She _did_ know _._   _Damn it._   But it would not be spoken of.  At least for now.   
  
Ross would have nothing to do with the child, unless utterly necessary.  He only had Demelza and Jeremy to care for.  And another child that Demelza would soon tell him was to come.  Here, at Nampara, was his family. 

 

For with Trenwith, he was through.  For good.


End file.
